


The Queen of the Seven Kingdoms

by TheMadQueenCersei



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-25
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-03-17 04:56:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18958324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMadQueenCersei/pseuds/TheMadQueenCersei
Summary: A rewriting and extension of Season 8 Ep 6. All events prior to that are canon...bar Jaime and Cersei's deathThe Seven Kingdoms would never be the same after Daenerys Targeryan took the throne. Alliances collapse, new ones form, and her reign begins in blood and fire.The fate of many characters remain uncertain. Bids for independence from the North and the Iron Islands threaten the strength of the Seven Kingdoms, as well as widespread whispers about the birthright of a certain Northman.Queen Daenerys of the House Targeryan...long may she reign?





	1. TYRION

For the first time in centuries, the city had fallen to a quiet. Tyrion walked slowly through the devastation. Where the streets had once been cobbled, hard stone, they were now soft underfoot with the layers of ash falling from the sky. He almost didn’t recognise it. Around him houses and shops, armouries, brothels he used to frequent, all stood in irreparable ruin. Charred and bloody corpses littered the streets. The dragon queen had fired indiscriminately on the city below her, and now men, women and children alike lay under the soft orange sky. He took some solace in the fact that their deaths would have been a fairly swift affair. Glancing up to the remains of the Red Keep, Tyrion resolved to make his way there. Perhaps he would see his sister. He hoped not. If Jaime had even an ounce of common sense left that had not been blinded by love, he would have taken Cersei out of the city.  
The Red Keep bore almost no resemblance to the grand castle he had known so well. In his time as hand to Joffrey, he had made the Tower of the Hand his home, but it was as if it had never existed. Through the haze of ash, he made his way up the steps, delicately avoiding the fallen stone façade of the front gates. It was somewhat poetic, he mused, that the Keep his sister had sworn would never fall was still, to a degree, intact. The keep had always been the embodiment of the crown, a constant reminder of the history of the land. And now it would be the symbol of the Dragon Queen, who had caused such devastation not an hour before.  
The soft sound of crying pulled him from his thoughts as he stepped into the courtyard. He froze. The silhouette of a woman hunched over a body was just visible through the clearing smoke. Tyrion stepped slowly toward it. As he got closer, the glint of a golden hand caught his eye and he felt the colour drain from his face.

“Cersei?”

His sister turned, tears streaked down her ashy face. In spite of his hatred for her, he couldn’t help but feel for Cersei. She had lost everything in a matter of moments. That was bound to make even the strongest of people break. He had never seen her quite like this, rarely did she show the cracks in her stony mask.  
“He’s gone” she said flatly, her face a picture of confusion and disbelief.

“How?” asked Tyrion softly, fighting back the tears he knew would eventually fall.

“Euron. He- he…” Cersei trailed off. Tyrion knew what she was trying to say. Stepping forward, he took his sister’s hand. In spite of everything, the years of abuse and hateful words, he knew that in this moment, it came down to family. And here they were, the fierce Lannisters. One dead, one defeated and one imp. The irony of it all almost made him laugh.

“It’s over” he stated softly, looking down at Jaime. She pulled away stiffly.

“You got what you wanted.” She said coldly, staring at the golden hand.

“I never wanted it to be like this”, he replied, “I never wanted destruction or devastation. I never wanted Jaime to die, I-”

“- But this is how it’s happened” she quipped. “She truly is the Mad King’s daughter. If you think the people were afraid of me…”

“She’s going to kill you, you know” he replied

Cersei turned to him. “I know…but..”

“But?” he questioned

She looked down. “I don’t want my baby to die.”

“She’s not going to care about that. Any child of yours would be a threat to her claim to the throne”

“Any more than Jon Snow is?” she queried

Tyrion looked at her, stunned. “How did you know?”

She gave a small smile. “Varys’s little birds travel far. His raven reached us yesterday.”

“Varys died for that. The lengths she’s willing to go to to stop that information getting out-”

“- But Jon Snow still lives, and so should my baby”

“That’s not how her mind works. Jon Snow isn’t her enemy”

The shriek of a dragon in the near distance interrupted their conversation.

“You haven’t got long”

“I know.”

The walls rumbled as the mighty weight of Drogon landed on them. Atop her dragon. Daenerys Targaryen stared down at Cersei. Tyrion stepped back. He knew what was coming. Cersei stood, returning Daenerys’s cool glare. Tyrion had to admire her, even though it pained him to admit it. Even in the face of death, she still stood with poise and elegancy, regarding the dragon with the same smirk she gave much of the people she encountered. The dragon raised his head, awaiting the command. There was a beat. A long one. Tyrion looked up at Daenerys, pleading with his eyes. She regarded him coldly, and turned back to Cersei.

“Dracarys.”

A flame, a scream, and then nothing. Piercing silence. It truly was over. Tyrion looked up at Daenerys, whose face was completely blank. In that instant he knew one thing for certain. Daenerys Targaryen could never sit on the Iron Throne.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! So. This is my first attempt at anything like this. I know this chapter is short and slow-burning, but please bear with me! I've got big plans...


	2. TYRION

Daenerys stood atop the steps at the entrance to the Red Keep, observing her troops triumphantly. The somewhat depleted Dothraki and Unsullied stood below her, awaiting her victory speech. Behind her, Tyrion could not help but notice the sheer amount of soldiers that had been killed in the past months of violence. Her army had almost halved in size. Tyrion considered it to be a miracle that they had survived the massacre of King’s Landing.

Daenerys began her speech, alternating between Dothraki and Valyrian. The Dothraki cheered and screamed, kicking up great clouds of ash and dust as they wheeled their horses around. The Unsullied beat their spears in the ground. Tyrion scanned the crowd. He stopped abruptly, noticing a familiar face glaring up at the Dragon Queen. Arya Stark, it seemed, had barely escaped the violence. Her ordinarily dark hair was an ashy grey, and it was impossible to ignore the cracked blood snaking out of her hairline and down her face. Her eyes met his, and they exchanged a knowing nod. It seemed they were on the same page. Tyrion pulled away when he noticed that suddenly, the Queen had switched back to Westerosi.

“…and it is my great joy to announce that, upon my coronation, Jon Snow and I shall be married. Our children will rule the Seven Kingdoms justly and fairly for generations to come, as is their birth right. A true marriage of Ice and Fire, the North to the South. Two great houses, one great alliance, and…” she turned to Jon “…One great love”.

One look at Jon Snow’s face told Tyrion that he had not consented to this union, nor had he even been told of it. He was white as a sheet, staring dumbfoundedly at Daenerys. Tyrion couldn’t blame him. Despite his sibling’s inclinations, marrying his aunt would not sit well with him, either. No matter how pretty or eligible she was. Turning back to the crowd and seeking out Arya once again to gauge her reaction, he noticed that she had all but disappeared into thin air. _Well,_ he thought to himself, _that’s a good sign._

The speech wrapped up rather swiftly and Daenerys announced her plans to retire to the remains of the Red Keep, gesturing for Jon to follow. Tyrion resolved to walk as far in the opposite direction as he could without being noticed.

“And...Tyrion?”

He turned slowly, not wishing to meet her eyes. “Yes, your grace?”

“I told you that if you disappointed me again, I’d burn you alive. Well, you did betray me, but…your actions led to the death of my enemy and the vulnerability of Cersei Lannister. You all but stopped her from fleeing the city. I don’t give second chances often, nor do I see that justice is not done. You will continue to serve as my hand, but one more instance of disobedience and it will be your last.”

Tyrion paused. He saw very clearly the moral quandary that stood before him. _If I refuse her, she will kill me. I’ll be dead, but I won’t serve a murderous Queen,_ he mused. _But if I am dead, I cannot ensure that she does not massacre anyone else. I cannot ensure that she does not see her reign to fulfilment. I…I cannot stop the mad queen._

“Very well, your grace. Thank you for your mercy, it is greatly appreciated.” As the Dragon Queen turned and marched up to the Red Keep, he mused over the irony of that statement and the bitter taste it left in his mouth. He was thanking her for mercy that not hours before she had refused to show the innocent people in King’s Landing. And Tyrion was well aware that he was far from innocent.

All too suddenly, a figure appeared in front of him, as if from nowhere.

“Sansa won’t accept this.” Stated Arya Stark

“No, She won’t,” he agreed “and I don’t suppose either of us can stop her from acting in the interest of the North.”

“I wouldn’t blame her,” Arya replied, “I would do whatever it took if I were in her position. She’ll want independence for her people.”

“Aren’t they your people too?” Tyrion asked.

“Maybe. I’m not sure. I’m no Sansa, I wouldn’t expect the northmen to follow me- it was her that rallied them together. But that isn’t the point- if Sansa doesn’t bend the knee, the North won’t either, and Daenerys will have to accept 6 kingdoms or face another war.”

“That’s if she stays Queen in the first place.” Tyrion posed. Arya looked at him, her dark brow raised. Suggestions were suggestions, after all, no matter what way they are posed.

“Shall I do it? I came down here to kill one Queen, I might as well kill the other” she chuckled.

Tyrion shrugged. “Whoever has the chance to, I suppose. Grey Worm will be watching her like a hawk, but…Varys managed to send some scrolls out before he died. It’s likely that most of the Seven Kingdoms know about Jon’s true parentage by now, and after news of King’s Landing gets out, much of Westeros might be out for blood.”

Arya went quiet. “He’s still my brother. He might not be my _brother_ but he’s still family”

“I know. And that’s what Daenerys will have everyone believe- Bastard Jon Snow, Lord of Winterfell, the key to the North, when in reality he’s the key to the whole of the Seven Kingdoms”

“Good luck, Tyrion. I hope you survive her.” She said sadly.

“Me too. Where will you go?”

“North again maybe. Or to Storm’s End. I haven’t decided who needs me more yet.”

“Good. And if you do decide to come back and kill the Queen, make sure it isn’t _YOUR_ face doing it. ‘Arya Stark, saviour of mankind’ is far too valuable to be executed for treason.”

“How did you know?”

“Rumours spiral. In my line of work you get quite good at separating fact from fiction, and…well, the timing of your arrival at Winterfell after the massacre of the Freys was too perfect to be a coincidence. Well done, by the way.”

“Thank you. Goodbye, Tyrion.”

“Goodbye, Lady Stark.”

She smiled. “Don’t call me that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well....where will Arya go? Will Tyrion conspire further? Will Sansa declare war on Daenerys? Whoooooo knows 
> 
> Any feedback would be greatly appreciated!


	3. SANSA

It didn’t take long for the news to reach the North. Sansa received the raven and read it in privacy. If the contents were to become common knowledge amongst the small folk, she may well have a riot on her hands.

_Sansa,_

_Daenerys has taken the capital in fire and blood. Much of the city has been destroyed. She now seeks to crown herself queen and has announced that she will marry Jon Snow. Soon you will receive a raven requesting your presence in the south to bend the knee to the new queen. Please, do not do anything rash._

_Tyrion._

Sansa knew she had a good few days to think on her actions before the raven arrived. She knew in her heart that she could never bend the knee, nor would the North want her to. However, in doing so, she risked war with the Dragon Queen, a war which the North could not afford. But if she bent the knee, she risked widespread rebellion from not just the common folk but from the Northern houses who had placed their trust in her to secure the future of the North. Though it had never been publicly stated, the whispers that came back to her spoke of a general wish for the North to become and independent kingdom with a Stark on the throne. With _her_ on the throne.

The raven in question came through 3 days later.

_Queen Daenerys Targaryen, first of her name, requests the presence of Brandon Stark in King’s Landing to bend the knee and swear fealty to the crown. Upon this, he will be named Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North and his descendants will, so duty bound, serve the Queen and her successors with faith and honour._

Sansa almost dropped the scroll in disbelief. Bran over her? The Dragon Queen was trying to get rid of her. This was the final straw. Surely Daenerys knew that provoking Sansa like left her with no choice but to rebel? Sansa rushed out to the Godswood to seek out Bran. He sat under the ancient weirwood tree as he did most days, staring silently into middle distance. He turned his head slowly to face her.

“So. She’s made her first move.” He stated plainly. Sansa sighed. Of course Bran knew the contents of the scroll. She should be used to this by now.

“She’s going to name you Lord of Winterfell. Are you going to go down and bend the knee?”

“I’ve already told you, I can’t be Lord of anything.”

“What should we do? If you don’t go, she’ll declare us traitors and there’ll be another war- one the north can’t survive.”

“It’s a game of power. She won’t want to fight either. Her forces are far less than the North now, she’s just trying to provoke you” Bran replied.

“Then I’ll play it her way. I’ll make an offer: the independence of the North in return for the maintenance of the Night’s Watch and Castle Black. That will take some pressure off her, surely. She might even thank me for it.”

“That’s if she still sees a need for the watch. It’s up to you. You’re the Lady of Winterfell.”

“So be it. She hasn’t left much choice” Sansa decided.

Sansa knew her reply would not be well received in the south. She just hoped that with Jon and Tyrion flanking Daenerys, they might be able to help her see sense- help her see that the north was not an enemy she wanted. Daenerys was trying to mitigate Sansa as a threat by promoting Bran, but she hadn’t counted on Bran abandoning his claim to the North- this left Sansa as the sole heir to Winterfell.

_Daenerys,_

_Brandon Stark has forfeited his claim to the north. As Lady of Winterfell, I move to ask for the independence of the North as it was for hundreds of years of our history. We will take over the duties of manning the wall, the capital will no longer have to provide prisoners. I hope we can come to an agreement on this._

_Sansa Stark_

Sansa knew better than to name herself queen on the raven scroll, though it was all but implied. She hoped that there might be some chance at diplomatic negotiations before total war was declared- even if the only achievement was the slight recovery of the northern houses. Separately, she wrote a letter to Tyrion, pleading for him to lead the Queen toward common sense. Silently, she called on her bannermen and began a war council- Sansa knew she had to remain one step ahead of the south but she would wait for Daenerys to make the next move. Sansa wouldn’t attack without provocation, but if Daenerys denied the North it’s rights, she had to be ready for every possibility

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooooooh. What a lovely game of political chess....
> 
> A short chapter, I know, but some things have to be established before it heats up!


	4. ARYA

Arya’s journeys with the Hound had taken her all over Westeros, but she had never travelled this far south before. She had decided to take the scenic, albeit slower route to Storm’s End. She’d be avoiding the King’s Wood which limited the chance of a roadside robbery. This wasn’t to say Arya didn’t think she could take anyone who attacked her- quite the opposite. But after the events at King’s Landing, violence left a somewhat bitter taste in her mouth. Arya knew anyone she encountered on her travels was likely a survivor of Daenerys Targaryen, and she looked upon them with great sympathy. Besides, the journey would only take around 3 days, and the roads were gentle.

The guards at the gates looked at her with confusion. The quality of her clothes would ordinarily have distinguished her as a noblewoman, but the ash and fire had left her looking somewhat worse for wear.

“Refugees should enter through the south gate.” One of the guards grumbled.

“I’m not a refugee. I’m Arya Stark, here to see Lord Gendry”. The mention of her name ought to be enough here, she thought.

The Guard nodded at his companion, who opened the gate and gestured for her to ride inside. She dismounted her horse and handed it to a waiting stablehand.

“Wait here, Lady Stark. Someone will be down for you shortly.”

Arya sat on the bench as directed by the guard, who disappeared up into the castle. At one point she would’ve run away, making her own way up to Gendry, but somehow that didn’t seem right here. She felt she should do things the right way, the ordinary way.

“Arya!” an unmistakable voice cut through the busy courtyard. She stood quickly, running toward Gendry. They met in a strong embrace.

“I thought I’d never see you again” Gendry sighed

Arya smiled into his shoulder. “We both know that isn’t true.”

He released her, studying her face at arms length. “Why did you come here?”

Arya glanced around. “Can we go somewhere quieter?”

Gendry led her up through the castle and into what appeared to be the library. Gendry gestured at the old Septon sat in the corner, who nodded and took his leave with a quiet mutter of “My Lord”.

“I assume you heard what happened in King’s Landing?” Arya queried.

“Yeah. Word travels fast, particularly if it’s carried in smoke and ash. The clouds reached us before the ravens did. Were you there? Are you hurt? Arya, look at you. What happened?”

“I’m fine. I’m one of the lucky ones. I probably should’ve died a couple of times. Look, I went there to kill the Queen, but Sandor-” Arya caught herself.  “I mean The Hound- convinced me it wasn’t worth dying over. And he was right. She died anyway, and if I had stayed, I would’ve burned to death. I barely escaped that in the first place.”

“Seven Hells.” Gendry muttered.

“But…listen. It’s given me some perspective on what is important, and I don’t want revenge anymore. Not really. I’ve only got one name left on my list, but I’m not the only person looking to cross it off. So… if you’ll have me- I mean-if the proposal still stands-”

“Yes! Of course, a thousand times yes.”, Gendry smiled, “But who’s that last name?”

“Daenerys Targaryen.”

Gendry blanched visibly. “She’s asked me to swear fealty to her as queen.”

“Yes, and you should. Can’t have you executed for treason before we’re even wed.” Arya laughed. The word left a weird feeling on her tongue. All her life, she’d maintained that she’d never be married, never be a lady, never have children. And here she was, practically begging for Gendry’s hand in marriage.

“Gendry- before we begin planning anything, I have some requests. Well, they aren’t so much requests as… rules.”

“Go on.”

“I’ll be your Lady. But I want to stay a Stark. Our children, they can be Baratheons, but I can’t. And I need freedom. Lots of it. Diplomacy and politics have never been my thing. I also won’t wear a dress for anyone, not even you.”

“I wouldn’t imagine it any other way, m’lady” Gendry joked.

Arya smiled. “And...one more thing” she said, her voice noticeably more serious. “Promise me that when it comes to it- IF it comes to it, you won’t stop me from killing her?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it”

Arya smiled contentedly and pulled him in to a deep kiss. That evening, Gendry summoned his men to a feast, and announced that, in a fortnight, he would be wed to Lady Arya of House Stark. He ordered ravens to be sent to the capital and to the north, informing Jon and Sansa. Later, as they lay in bed together, Gendry stroked her hair and mused.

“It’s interesting, isn’t it?”

Arya sat up on her elbows and looked at him. “What is?”

“Well, that’s how this all started. A Stark and a Baratheon. Your Aunt and my Father. Who knows where we’d be if he hadn’t declared war over her? I probably wouldn’t have been born.”

“Why?”

“Well, he fathered me after he won the wars, after he was king, after the Targaryens were first defeated. Jon Snow would be King if Rhaegar hadn’t been defeated.”

“You got one of Varys’s ravens?”

“Yeah, me and all of Westeros. Varys named him ‘Aegon’ or something like that. It doesn’t suit him”

Arya laid back down. “No.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mushy, Wishy-washy stuff, I know...But this is the ending I wanted to see for Arya
> 
> Comments/feedback appreciated!


	5. TYRION AND ARYA

TYRION

The coronation was a sombre affair. No one bar the Dragon Queen seemed pleased at the idea of the Mad King’s daughter on the Iron Throne. In a short, precise, and to the point ceremony, Daenerys Targaryen was crowned Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. The wedding, too, was quiet. After devastating the city, it made sense not to further provoke the smallfolk with lavish extravagances when they had lost so much. Whilst Tyrion did not want Daenerys to stay on the throne for long, it was in his interest to ensure that what little reign she had ran smoothly. At the small council meeting, Tyrion announced the news from North and South.

“Arya Stark is to wed Gendry Baratheon. He has sworn fealty to you, your grace.”

“Very good. A fitting match. Anything from the North?” Daenerys questioned.

“Your Grace…” Tyrion trailed of, unable to think of how to deliver the blow.

“Tyrion?”

Tyrion sighed. “Bran Stark has forfeited his claim to the North-”

“- very well. Winterfell will be run by the crown until a suitable heir is chosen.”

“Your Grace, Sansa Stark has written to ask for independence in return for taking over the duties of manning the wall. She has resumed her position of Lady of Winterfell.”

Daenerys scoffed. “The threat from beyond the wall is negligible, thanks to Arya Stark. I will not grant her wish. The North will remain in the Seven Kingdoms and I will personally choose a more suitable Lord of Winterfell to act as my Warden of the North. In the meantime, I will send an envoy of Unsullied to the North to ensure a swift takeover from Sansa Stark. We will find her a suitable husband- Lord Arryn perhaps, since she still wields some influence over the Vale.”

“With respect, Your Grace, the North is not an enemy you want to make. It is the largest of all Seven Kingdoms, and all the Houses are loyal to House Stark, and by default, Sansa. Make her Lady of Winterfell at the very least, that ought to satiate her for a small amount of time.”

“With _respect,_ my Lord Hand,” spoke Daenerys through gritted teeth, “Sansa Stark is a schemer. You yourself have revelled in how clever she is. I do not wish to give her any more power to play with. not whilst she’s still a threat. We’ll wed her to Lord Arryn, to whom she’ll be answerable. Within the year she’ll have a child in her belly which ought to keep her more than occupied. In the meantime, send a Raven to Storm’s End. Arya and Gendry are not to wed until Sansa Stark concedes the North.”

“I speak from experience when I say that her track record with marriages isn’t perfect. But if these are your wishes, then so be it.” Tyrion sighed

“Careful, Tyrion. You are on eggshells as it is.” Daenerys stood abruptly, followed by a chorus of scraping chairs as the chamber followed suit. “That will be all for today. I trust you can manage the less pressing matters on your own?”

Tyrion nodded. “Your Grace.”

Tyrion slumped into his chair as she left the room, rubbing his face. Daenerys intended on upsetting both the Stark sisters, her new husband and probably the whole of the North in one fell swoop. _So be it,_ he thought to himself. _If this is how she wishes to begin her reign, and I cannot dissuade her otherwise, then war it is._

ARYA

Arya could barely contain her anger. She had sprinted far, far into the woods and now sat beneath a tree, repeatedly throwing knives with a vicious aim and unwavering stare. She had heard the shouts of the guards as she’d left the castle, but it hadn’t taken much to evade them. Gendry knew better than to follow her immediately. She knew he’d find her in a few hours. The knives thudded into the wood. _Stupid_ thud _dragon_ thud _queen_. Arya knew that Sansa would never relinquish the north. She couldn’t blame her, not after everything she had been through. And now Daenerys had the audacity to punish her for her sister’s actions? And yet she could do nothing, not whilst Gendry was still sworn to the crown. He was still establishing himself as a lord, and far be it from her to take that from him. He’d earnt it. This only served to complicate her moral quandary. It was all too tempting to put on a face and go and finish the business herself, but her lengthy absence from Storm’s End would be noticed. That, paired with her widespread reputation as the killer of the Dead, left her an obvious suspect. She’d promised Gendry a relatively quiet life, as much as that pained her. And that meant not killing the Queen. At least, not yet. Arya was pulled abruptly from her thoughts at the crunching of leaves behind her. She shifted behind the tree and whirled out, aiming her dagger straight for the heart.

“Woah, woah, it’s okay, it’s just me”

‘Just me’ turned out to be Gendry. She sheathed the bejewelled blade. “How did you find me?”

He shrugged. “I didn’t, not really. We’ve been looking for you for hours. Have you been here this whole time?”

“Sorry, I needed to think. And not to accidentally hurt someone.”

Gendry studied the tree that had been the subject of Arya’s anger. “Your aim’s off.” He teased.

Arya smiled “No it isn’t”

“No, it isn’t. How are you feeling?”

“I don’t know.” Arya had never been good at expressing her emotions. It made her feel weak. “Frustrated, I guess. At this rate we’ll never be married.”

Gendry touched her face softly with his gloved hand. “We will, just not as soon has expected. I promise.”

Arya swiped his hand away, scowling. “How? Will you march up to Sansa and drag her south to concede to the Queen? Or will you march right up to the Iron Throne and demand that Daenerys allow us to marry?”

Gendry sighed. “Look. I know this is hard. Believe me, I’m frustrated too. But we can still be together. We just have to be patient, is all. Let’s talk about it another time. Come back up to the castle. I’ve got a surprise for you”

“Is it the Queen’s head?” Arya joked.

Gendry put his finger to Arya’s lips. “None of that out here. You don’t know who might be listening. Come on.”

She took his hand and allowed herself to be led back home.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SHOCK Arya isn't very good at communicating her emotions. 
> 
> Feedback and comments appreciated!


	6. SANSA

Sansa had spent weeks telling herself that the words inside the raven’s scroll from King’s Landing weren’t real. She ignored them, went about performing her duties as normal- checking grain stock, ensuring the transportation of goods to and from the wall, rebuilding Winterfell. But now that a convoy of knights clad in the pale whites and blues of the Vale stood outside the gates of Winterfell, she couldn’t push it back in her mind anymore.

She sighed, and looked wearily up at the guards that had delivered the news to her. “Let them in, and find them suitable lodgings for the night. See to their horses, and have their commander sent up to me.”

The guard nodded, and turned on his heel. Sansa sat back in her chair. She couldn’t deny that a marriage alliance was a good idea- she could hardly produce legitimate heirs on her own. But she was still haunted by the nightmares she had endured at the hands of her last husband. She still woke at night in cold sweats, dreaming she was with him again. She still saw him in the shadows of her room, could still feel his breath on her neck and hear the taunting words he whispered to her.

“My Lady.” A voice cut through her thoughts. Sansa looked up to see a tall, dark haired figure in the doorway. She squinted.

“Lord Arryn?” Sansa questioned. It had been some time since she had last seen him. What had once been a scrawny, weak, loathsome little boy now stood before her as a tall, well built and somewhat handsome man.

“Yes. I thought it best to ensure your safe passage to the Vale myself. It has been some time since I’ve seen you, Lady Sansa, and dare I say you have grown more beautiful with the-”

“You don’t have to flatter me.” Sansa interjected. “I’ve already agreed to the marriage. Not that I had a choice.” It was true, she hadn’t had much choice. The North could not afford a war with King’s Landing. She just had to bide her time, wait for the North to strengthen, then strike. In theory. In practice, she was going to have to play the devoted wife, feed her husband’s ego and provide him with children. At least this one didn’t prefer dogs over people.

Robin Arryn looked down. “My lady, this has come as a surprise to both of us. But we can work together to make it prosperous and happy, if you so wish.”

Sansa nodded. “I’m sure we will be happy together, Lord Arryn. Does it not bother you that I am no longer pure?”

Robin went slightly red. “I have heard tales of your marriage to the bastard of Bolton. By all accounts, I would say that was less of a marriage than a prison. I wouldn’t count that. And you have no children by him, which makes it easier to forget.”

Sansa scoffed. “Easier for you. I can assure you that whatever you heard in those tales, it was worse. But we won’t speak of it. Not until I am ready. I know that you are a kind-hearted man, and will never treat me the way Ramsay did.”

The journey to the Vale was long and uncomfortable. Sansa had almost forgotten how unforgiving the terrain was. She certainly hadn’t missed it. Walking into the Hall, she shuddered at the sight of the Moon Door- the very same one that her aunt Lysa had tried to push her through, to which Petyr Baelish had returned the favour. A handmaid welcomed her, informing Sansa that her wedding dress had already been made and was awaiting her approval. She was led up to a simple but elegant room, furnished in pale greys and blues fitting the Arryn name. Opening a cupboard, the wedding dress was there as promised. A soft blue colour, the sleeves were adorned with birds, and across the breast a direwolf danced on a pale white moon. It was a dense, heavy dress befitting the winter that had finally arrived at the veil. Elegant quilting was interwoven with silver thread and pearls, and a high collar was laced with fur.

“Is it to you liking, my lady?” the servant questioned.

Sansa forced a smile. “It’s beautiful.” She couldn’t lie, it really was beautiful. But so had been her last wedding dress. She’d made it herself, paid special attention the smallest of details- she’d been so proud of it. And it had been torn away from her as if it were a rag. _This time it will be different._ She had to keep reminding herself. She sought some solace in the fact that Lord Arryn’s childhood nickname had been ‘Sweet Robin’. She certainly hoped it was reflected in his adult temperament. Certainly, her distrust in men wasn’t helping her. Petyr Baelish had sold her to the Boltons, Ramsay had raped and beaten her, even Jon Snow had abandoned the North for Daenerys Targaryen. She resolved that she would not let herself be betrayed by a man again.

They were married two weeks later. The Lords of the Vale were in attendance, and Arya and Gendry had ridden up from Storm’s End to witness the ceremony. For the third time in her life, Sansa found herself repeating the words. _I am his, and he is mine._

Sansa observed Arya at the feast. She’d spent so long apart from her sister over the last years that there was no end of surprise when it came to Arya’s behaviour. Now she saw her sister, who had vowed never to marry, hand in hand with Gendry Baratheon. Her face seemed softer, she laughed more. Sansa smiled at the thought of 11 year old Arya watching over, scowling. Young Arya would be throwing food at her by now, or pulling faces. The thought made her laugh.

“It is good to see you smile, my lady” her new husband commented.

“Sansa. Please, call me Sansa.”

“Sansa. Then you must call me Robin.” He followed her gaze over to Arya. “Your sister? I’ve never met her. Tell me, are all the stories true? Did she defeat the dead?”

“She did. She saved the North almost single-handedly”. Robin was staring at her sister in awe. “Well, perhaps you married the wrong sister.” Sansa laughed.

“Your sister may be formidable, but she isn’t half as pretty as you.” Robin replied easily.

Sansa shrugged. “She’s pretty to me.”

Just as she said that, calls began to rise around the hall that the Bedding Ceremony should begin. Robin glanced at her. She drained her goblet for a fourth time that evening. Just as Tyrion had been for their wedding night, she intended on being as drunk as possible to get through the bedding ceremony. Robin was pulled away by legions of ladies, giggling and pulling at his clothing. Sansa, instead of the customary group of lecherous men groping and stripping her, received an escort from her sister. Arya glared at any man who dared to come near them, hand firmly on the hilt of her valyrian steel dagger. At the door to their marriage chamber, Sansa embraced her sister.

“Thank you.” She whispered into Arya’s ear.

Arya looked up at her. “Anything happens to you, I’ll kill him myself.”

Sansa smiled. “I don’t doubt that.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY  
> Scene setting is all done. Now, we get onto the juicy bits. Stay tuned for more!
> 
> Comments/ feedback appreciated xx


	7. JON

It might have been the first time in his life that Jon truly understood what Sansa must be feeling. He’d been in many life threatening and compromising positions, hell- he’d even died, but he’d never felt quite this helpless before. The Queen was still ripe with the early notions of power, and was wielding it without counsel or consideration of consequence. Jon had been all but ordered to marry her, just as she had ordered Sansa to marry.  Gendry and Arya had arrived in King’s Landing to confirm the union and, once again, request permission for their own marriage. Jon sat to the left of the throne as Daenerys observed them before her.

“Thank you for informing me. But-“ Daenerys glanced at Jon. “I cannot grant you permission to marry. I do not believe it to be in the best interest of the crown.”

Jon choked. He saw Arya’s hand twitch toward her weapon and back to her side again. “Your Grace, I-“

“My decision is final. Lady Arya, I give you leave to remain in the capital under the protection of the crown until a suitable husband has been found for you. Lord Baratheon, you may return to Storm’s End.”

Arya had turned on her heel and was marching out of the hall before Daenerys had a chance to say another word.

“Daenerys.”

She didn’t respond, instead staring intently ahead.

“ _Daenerys._ ” He said with more force.

She turned and smiled sweetly at him. “Yes, Jon?”

“This isn’t right. You can’t play chess with my sisters- marrying off Sansa was bad enough but Arya is not an enemy you want to make!”

“She’s still young. She’ll get over it. Besides, you’re her oldest living male relative, which means she is under your protection. Since I am your wife and your _Queen,_ I will see that she is looked after. What’s yours is mine.” She reminded him.

Jon scoffed. “Arya is not the type to forget. She killed the Freys! Not just old Walder, all of them. She single-handedly wiped a house from history! You don’t want to make your way on to her list.”

“Walder Frey murdered  her family. I am doing her a kindness. Your sister is hot headed. I need her to cool off before I can send her away unsupervised to run a house for me. Besides, I trust that should any harm befall me at the hands of Arya, you will do the right thing.” And with that she stood and took her leave, Grey Worm in tow.

Jon sent some guards off to find Arya, leaving Gendry dumbfounded in the hall. He marched up towards Tyrion’s chambers. Jon didn’t expect the guards to find Arya, but it was the gesture more than anything. Jon rounded the corner into Tyrion’s office, only to find Arya there already, chewing Tyrion’s ear off.

“-you can’t let her do this! It’s tyranny- I don’t understand what she has got to lose by letting me marry Gendry. I swear, I’ll-”

“Arya”

She whirled around. “You bloody coward.” Arya scowled, “Is this all you are now? Daenerys’s whipping boy? An ornament? What happened to you, Jon?”

“You don’t understand, I-”

“I understand perfectly. The second you bent the knee to that witch it was over for you. All this for a genocidal maniac?” Arya sneered

“ _Arya._ ” Jon forced out frustratedly. “Listen to me. She’s gone mad. I- _WE_ \- need to stop her. We’ve just got to figure out how.”

“I’ve a feeling your sister may be able to help with that.” Tyrion interjected. They both stared at him. He nodded at Arya.  “Show him.”

Arya turned her back to them for a moment. Jon saw what he thought was a strip of pale leather appear from inside the folds of her cloak. He glanced back at Tyrion, who shrugged at him. “You’ll see.”

She turned back to face them, only…it wasn’t Arya. In her place stood a man, but he was in her clothing. The man reached up to his face, gripped his chin and pulled. Jon staggered back in disbelief as Arya reappeared in his place.

“How…” Jon trailed off dumbfoundedly.

“After I escaped King’s Landing with Yoren, I was mean to go to Winterfell. Then we were apprehended by the Mountain’s men who-”

Tyrion cut her off. “Perhaps the shorter version?”

Arya sighed. “I left the Hound for dead and sailed to Braavos to train to become a faceless assassin.”

Jon stared at her. “And you’ve only now thought to mention this?”

“How did you think I’d gotten so good at fighting?” she frowned. “How do you think I killed House Frey?”

“I don’t know. I hadn’t really thought about it. It had been so long since I’d seen you that I didn’t question anything”

Tyrion stood up. “This is all besides the point. We can’t discuss any of this openly. Meet me at dawn in the Godswood- Jon, tell Daenerys you’ve gone to pray or something. Arya, tell Gendry to go home. It’s best he isn’t involved in any of this. It’s too much of a risk.”

Arya nodded, a flash of sadness crossing her face. Jon sighed. “I’ll arrange some rooms for you. In the meantime, you have to make an effort with Daenerys. She can’t suspect anything.”

“Won’t it be more obvious that something’s up if I’ve suddenly forgiven her?”

“You know what I mean. Be you, but…less.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Jon, he never was the smartest of the Starks. BUT. It is about to get hot in here.   
> "How hot?" i hear you ask....it'll be WELL HOT. (Might be too hot)...(Might be)   
> (yes very niche Inbetweeners reference for my fellow brits, I'm not ashamed to be cheesy)
> 
> On a side note- I finished uni for good today, my degree is done sooooo I plan on celebrating all weekend. Next update might take a few days!


End file.
